RULES OF THE GAME
1546 Words
Zara was already regretting her decision.
The second she stepped into the sleek, black town car idling at the curb, reality hit her square in the chest. This wasn’t just a business deal. This was thirty days of proximity to the one man who shattered her — in front of cameras, shareholders, and maybe the entire damn internet.
Lucas slid into the seat beside her, casual, composed, like he wasn’t dragging her back into a storm she barely survived the first time.
"You’re tense," he commented, scrolling through his phone as the car pulled away.
“I just agreed to fake-marry my ex,” she snapped. “Tense feels appropriate.”
He didn’t even look up. “We weren’t really exes, Zara. We never officially dated.”
“Oh, right.” She folded her arms tightly. “Just slept together. Shared secrets. Planned a future I didn’t know was optional.”
He finally turned his head, dark eyes meeting hers. “You agreed to this. Spare me the drama.”
“No,” she hissed. “You don’t get to shut me down when I haven’t even started.”
Lucas sighed and set his phone down. “We’re not doing this here. Not in the car. Not in public.”
“Is that a rule?”
He tilted his head. “Yes. Rule number one: personal grievances stay behind closed doors.”
She stared at him. “So now we’re setting rules?”
“You’ll appreciate them,” he said, smoothing his tie. “You always liked structure.”
Zara wanted to laugh — and maybe scream. But she bit her tongue and looked out the window instead. The city buzzed outside, unaware she was about to enter a thirty-day masquerade of luxury, lies, and unresolved tension.
“Fine,” she said finally. “Let’s set some damn rules.”
Lucas arched an eyebrow. “By all means.”
“Rule two,” she said. “We sleep in separate beds. Or rooms. No matter where we are.”
“Agreed.”
“Rule three — no touching unless absolutely necessary. For appearances only. And you don’t get to spring it on me.”
His lips curled. “You want me to schedule physical contact?”
She shot him a glare. “Just don’t surprise me.”
He nodded. “Fine. You’ll get warnings.”
“And rule four,” she said, her voice lowering, “no bringing up the past. No jabs. No cheap shots. We’re business partners, nothing more.”
For a moment, something flickered in his expression. Regret? Amusement? She couldn’t tell.
“Understood,” he said quietly.
The car turned onto Fifth Avenue and pulled in front of a luxury hotel with a name so expensive it didn’t need signage. A valet opened her door, and the moment Zara stepped out, cameras started flashing.
“What the—?”
“Paparazzi,” Lucas said smoothly, rounding the car to her side. He slipped a hand around her waist, pulling her close. “Smile. You’re madly in love, remember?”
“I swear, if you touch my ass—”
“I’m not suicidal.”
The flash of bulbs blinded her as they walked into the hotel lobby. It was all white marble and gold accents — elegant, showy, and soulless.
The concierge greeted them with a too-knowing smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Thorne, welcome back. The honeymoon suite is ready.”
Zara gritted her teeth. “You’ve done this before?”
Lucas gave her a side glance. “You’re the only one I’ve done this with.”
“Gee, I feel so special.”
He didn’t reply.
The suite was ridiculous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, champagne chilling in a crystal bucket, and rose petals strewn across the king-sized bed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, stepping inside.
Lucas dropped his overnight bag on the armchair and pulled off his tie. “It’s expected.”
“By who? People Magazine?”
He shrugged. “My board. My assistant. The internet. Everyone who saw us walk in holding hands.”
Zara peeled off her blazer and kicked off her heels. “This is a circus.”
“It’s thirty days.”
She turned to face him. “You keep saying that like it’s short.”
“It is,” he said. “Compared to forever.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is that supposed to be romantic?”
“No,” he said simply. “It’s supposed to be honest.”
Zara walked over to the windows, needing space from his voice. From his presence. From the heat in the room that had nothing to do with temperature.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” she said, facing the city. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
“I know.”
“You broke me, Lucas. You didn’t just walk away — you disappeared. No calls. No answers. I thought you were dead. Or worse… done with me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
She spun to face him. “That’s not protection. That’s cowardice.”
Lucas stepped closer. “You think I wanted to leave?”
“I think you did leave.”
“And I came back.”
Zara clenched her jaw. “Because you need something.”
He didn’t deny it.
“Tell me one thing,” she asked, voice trembling slightly. “Did you ever care?”
Lucas stared at her for a long moment. “Every second.”
The words knocked the wind out of her, and she hated how much they still mattered.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
He stopped just a foot away. “We should get some rest. There’s a charity gala tomorrow night. Our first official appearance as a married couple.”
She blinked. “Already?”
“High-profile. Press will be there. Wear something red.”
She didn’t respond.
Lucas stepped around her, walking toward the bathroom, then paused. “Take the bed,” he said without looking back. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
She nodded. “Good.”
But neither of them slept much that night.
---
The next morning, Zara woke early, the sunlight slicing across her face like a blade. The bed was warm, but empty. Lucas’s side untouched.
She got up, dressed, and padded into the suite’s kitchen, only to find him already there, in a white shirt and slacks, sipping coffee like he owned the sunrise.
He handed her a cup without speaking.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, taking it.
He nodded toward the balcony. “You’ve always hated closed spaces.”
She blinked. He remembered?
Outside, the city hummed. Zara sipped her coffee and studied the skyline.
“Do you regret this?” she asked quietly.
Lucas leaned on the railing beside her. “No.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Even after ten hours of silence and frost?”
He smirked. “You were always better with your mouth shut.”
She kicked his shin.
He winced, grinning. “There she is.”
Zara looked at him sideways. “What happens after thirty days?”
Lucas’s smile faded. “We walk away.”
“That easy?”
“That’s the deal.”
“And your inheritance?”
“I get control of the company. End of discussion.”
She swallowed. “Right.”
But deep down, something already felt off.
Not because she feared the performance.
But because she feared her heart might not be pretending.
---
That evening, Zara stepped out of the dressing room in a crimson off-the-shoulder gown that hugged every curve and made her feel like power itself.
Lucas stood waiting in a black tux, adjusting his cufflinks. When he looked up and saw her, his expression froze.
“You look…” he cleared his throat, “...stunning.”
Her lips quirked. “Try not to look too surprised.”
He walked over and extended his arm. “Shall we?”
Zara took it.
The gala was held at the Grand Astoria Hotel, a lavish venue draped in chandeliers and old money. Every guest was someone important — or someone pretending to be.
They made their entrance hand-in-hand, a picture-perfect couple. Cameras flashed. People whispered. Zara smiled like she belonged there.
Halfway through the evening, they were pulled aside by a board member from Thorne Global.
“Lucas,” the man said, shaking his hand. “And this must be the new Mrs. Thorne.”
Zara extended her hand with a poised smile. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“I must say, Lucas,” the man said, chuckling, “your wife is quite the catch. How did you land her?”
Lucas looked at her, a smile ghosting his lips. “I’m just lucky.”
The older man grinned. “You’ll need all the luck you can get. Marriage is a battlefield.”
As they moved on, Zara whispered, “Is that true? You feel lucky?”
Lucas didn’t answer right away.
Then he leaned in and whispered back, “More than I should be.”
Zara’s heart skipped. For a second, she forgot the rules.
Forgot the lies.
Forgot everything — except the way he was looking at her.
- Writer
